


Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls

by noona_or_nothing



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Byun Baekhyun is a Little Shit, Fluff and Crack, I give up now, Implied Smut, Jongin is a nude model, Kyungsoo can't even, M/M, Minor Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol, Modeling, Parties, artstudent, but also very shy, but he's Kyungsoo's best friend, lots of sexual comments, slight mention of Hunhan, tagging is too hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noona_or_nothing/pseuds/noona_or_nothing
Summary: Kyungsoo is enrolled in a studio art class against his wishes. But hey, he might just have to thank Baekhyun for hijacking his class schedule when one of the nude models catches his eye.Summaries are hard.The art class au that no one asked for but the Kim Jongin nude model au that everyone [not so] secretly wishes were real.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea for a while but decided to finally bring it to fruition. I wrote this instead of working on my other fic, whoops.
> 
> I hope no one takes offense to the way I wrote Baekhyun’s character. He’s not a creeper, just a thirsty hoe. It’s all in good fun, not the way I actually perceive him. Also, I like NCT Dream but Chewing Gum makes me want to pour acid in my ears. Just my opinion. If you love it, then you do you, but don’t @me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Chew-chew-chew-chew-chewing gum chew-chew-chew-chew-chew…”_

An exhausted hand flops along the surface of the bedside table, desperately searching for the smooth surface of a black Samsung phone. The lifeless hand knocks a few odds and ends off, including a half-empty tube of lip balm and a pair of rather expensive glasses. The inanimate body attached to said hand sighs dejectedly. Yet, the cheerful voices continue belting out an ode to one of Kyungsoo’s least favorite candies.

_“Chew-chew-chew-chew-chew…”_

A mop of black hair emerges from a blanket cocoon, strands sticking up haphazardly in all directions. Kyungsoo rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns, before smashing his face back into the indented pillow. Soft grumbles escape his lips. 

Eventually, he lifts himself from the comfort of his bed, blinking excessively to adjust his vision to the sunlight streaming directly in his eyes. Leaning forward, he retrieves his round frame glasses from the floor and slides them on. Kyungsoo has to stop and wipe a few stray dust bunnies from the lenses, but at least he can clearly see what’s in front of his face. 

_“Chew-chew-chew-chew-chewing gum…”_

Right, the annoying ass ringtone. Kyungsoo makes a mental note to torture Baekhyun until he begs for death since it was his irritating best friend’s fault that NCT Dream screams him awake every morning. 

He’s tried to change it but somehow it keeps coming back. He suspects that Baekhyun secretly steals his phone every day to ensure his misery. There’s no proof, but with that brat, it’s more like guilty until proven innocent.

_“Neoneun nae Chewing gum…”_

Finally, Kyungsoo fumbles with his phone, originally resting just out of his reach. He manages to shut off the sound, even if it’s only for the eight minutes until his phone decides to come out of snooze mode. If he has to hear that song one more time he may just lose his mind completely.

He slinks out of bed, disappointed to leave the safe haven of his bed and silently cursing himself for signing up for the early morning advanced chemistry lab.

_It’ll be fine,_ he said. _You’ll get it out of the way early. Plus, if you take all your classes on Monday and Wednesday, you’ll have so much free time,_ he said. 

Honestly, if he could go back in time, Kyungsoo would slap his former self until he made a different decision.

Rather than spending the whole day wallowing in self-pity, as attractive as an option that may seem, Kyungsoo tries his best to face yet another dull Monday. He stumbles in his Pororo slippers, a gag gift from his older brother that he secretly adores, making his way into the bathroom. The dark circles under his eyes tell him that he needs to get a few more hours each night but Kyungsoo knows he isn’t really going to do anything about it. 

Instead, he squeezes the bottom of the toothpaste tube and smears the end across his toothbrush. When he attempts to splash a little water on it, the toothpaste slides off and squelches in the sink basin. Great. One of those days…

After a few minutes brushing his teeth and trying desperately to comb down his untamed rat’s nest known as hair, Kyungsoo slides on a fresh pair of pants. Seeing as the day is already off to a bad start and he could use all the luck he can get, Kyungsoo decides to throw on his favorite shirt. Perhaps, it can help turn things around.

Checking the time, Kyungsoo can see that he’s running a little bit late if he wants to make it to class. He absentmindedly snatches up his backpack and a semi-stale blueberry muffin before running out the door. He makes a mental note to go grocery shopping soon but it can wait until after class. Or tomorrow.

In his haste, Kyungsoo forgets his keys, only remembering when he attempts to pull his car door open and it doesn’t make its regular beeping sound indicating that it unlocked. Racing back up to his apartment, searching for his keys, and stumbling down to the car takes another 10 minutes from his remaining time.

If only he didn’t live off campus…  
If only the fucking toothpaste stayed on his toothbrush this morning…  
If only Chewing Gum hadn’t assaulted his eardrums…

If only the 15-minute commute hadn’t turned into approximately 35 minutes because some idiot ran a red light and caused a minor fender-bender, then he could have made it to class on time. 

Kyungsoo tries to subtly sneak into class, he really does. It’s just that the lab only has 15 people and the door is at the front of the room. The door decides it wants to squeak extra loud today as well, meaning all of those people turn their attention to the flustered third year softly muttering apologies for his tardiness.

For once, Kyungsoo didn’t study the lab material the night before and for once, the TA decides to call on him for the answer. Granted, he generally does alright on the assignments so it’s not too far-fetched to assume Kyungsoo will know the solution. Yet, fate determines that today, of all days, Kyungsoo has to look like an absolute idiot. Not that he says an answer. He gives the TA his deadliest glare and waits for him to get uncomfortable enough to call on someone else. Seeing as it’s Jongdae who’s his TA, it doesn’t take long.

At least lunch can always cheer him up, especially since it’s Mediterranean Monday. He low-key lives for falafel dipped in tzatziki. However, he had to stay behind in class an extra ten minutes listening to Jongdae express concern over his well-being. While it’s nice that his TA cares about his health, Kyungsoo would much rather shove pita bread into his mouth than talk about his feelings.

Those few minutes are how Kyungsoo finds himself at the back of a very long line, watching student upon student pass by holding trays overflowing with delectable Greek cuisine. By the time he reaches the front, he can see one serving of falafel left in the tray. While it might not be much, it’s enough to make up for the shitty day he’s having so far. 

A little part of Kyungsoo dies inside as Luhan sweeps in and claims the last of the falafel. 

A large part of Kyungsoo dies inside when he has to settle for some greasy looking pizza, which some monstrosity of a person thought was a good idea to put pineapple on. 

The rest of his day stays just as sub-par as earlier, except with an hour-long philosophy lecture. Kyungsoo couldn’t care less about the Nietzsche vs. Heidegger debate currently going on between Zitao and the professor. He’s only in this class to fulfill a prerequisite that he’s been delaying for the past few years. At least he doesn’t have to pay that close of attention since Zitao is doing a great job of distracting the professor from remembering to assign homework. Kyungsoo breathes a sigh of relief that something could go in his favor for once.

“Don’t forget to read pages 15-120 for next class. It’s imperative for our discussion!” The professor shouts out at the end of class.

Well, fuck.

On the bright side, he’s somehow managed to survive another mundane Monday. Kyungsoo stretches out his sore arms, daydreaming about crawling under his covers and becoming a modern-day Rip Van Winkle. 

Before he can sigh in relief and shy away from society for the next few centuries, Kyungsoo realizes that his day isn’t quite over. He still has to attend a three-hour figure drawing course, courtesy of a particularly irritating pest named Byun Baekhyun. 

All Kyungsoo wanted to do was enroll in a few classes and move on with his sorry existence, but no, he couldn’t live in peace. Baekhyun made sure of that when he somehow convinced Kyungsoo to sign up for the course. Granted, it took a few bottles of soju and Kyungsoo inadvertently giving up his student login information, but that’s neither here nor there.

He probably could have dropped the class a while ago and not suffered any consequences, but it was actually enjoyable. He loved turning a blank sheet of endless possibilities into something tangible and feeling the coarse texture of charcoal in his palm. Plus, it was a guaranteed chunk of time where he could zone out all his responsibilities.

So, yes, Kyungsoo loves his drawing class but he’d never say that out loud.

“Hey, Baek,” he greets as he throws his backpack down next to an easel in the corner.

“Kyung! Guess what?”

“No.”

“But you didn’t even guess,” Baekhyun pouts.

Kyungsoo runs his hands through his jet-black locks and scrunches his face up in irritation. Whatever Baekhyun’s antics were today, he didn’t want to be a part of it.

Ignoring the constant pleas from his annoyingly loud friend, Kyungsoo digs out a few boxes of vine charcoal and his half-gone eraser. Carefully, he pulls out a few sticks and sets them on the easel’s tray. 

All the while, Baekhyun stands behind him repeating, “Kyung!” like those seagulls in Finding Nemo.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll jam your fingers in the electric pencil sharpener,” he curses with his deadliest glare.

A moment of silence has Kyungsoo feeling optimistic.

“Kyung!”

Or, maybe not.

“What?” Kyungsoo practically shouts, turning the heads of a few other students that have trickled into the art studio.

“Guess!”

“Fine. You got a B on your Anthropology midterm?”

“Pft, as if. You and I both know that I’m a terrible student.”

Kyungsoo really can’t disagree with that one.

“You got a C?” He asks, rolling his eyes, knowing that would be way too generous of a grade.

“No, Sehun is throwing a party this weekend and guess who got invited…” Baekhyun grins obnoxiously and Kyungsoo has an urge to wipe it off with his fist. 

“The Mailman.”

“No, silly” Baekhyun playfully hits his arm, only for Kyungsoo to send a death glare his direction. “Me! Which means, we’re both going.”

Kyungsoo stares so hard into Baekhyun’s soul that it should have evaporated by this point.

“No.”

Baekhyun puts on his best pout and puppy dog eyes, a combo that usually has people swooning, but Kyungsoo is impervious to his charms.

“Please…?”

“No.”

“But Kyung,” Baekhyun whines shrilly, “I can’t go alone. That would just look sad.”

“Why should I care?”

“I thought we were friends.” Baekhyun chucks his eraser across the room and proceeds to cross his arms like a child throwing a tantrum. “Friends help friends get laid.”

“Byun, what have I told you about throwing things in the studio? If you want to be a brat, do it outside of my room,” a voice chastises from the doorway.

“Yifan…” Baekhyun points with his full hand as if making a serious point.

“That’s Mr. Wu to you.”

“Mr. Wu, Kyungsoo here won’t...”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But Mr. Wu,” Baekhyun whines, “tell him he has to…”

Yifan delivers his angriest look possible, and even Kyungsoo thinks his spine briefly melts into goo.

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun apologizes dejectedly.

“When you say sorry, it means you’re not going to do it again,” the art teacher states as his sneakers squeak across the floor with every step, “which we both know isn’t true.”

Baekhyun stares blankly at Yifan, although it isn’t clear if he’s challenging the instructor to a duel or merely playing dumb. With Baekhyun, it could easily go either way.

“Okay, class. Happy Monday,” the room erupts in several groans at Yifan’s forced enthusiasm. “A couple of reminders before we get started. The vending machine in the art building is temporarily out of service.”

“I heard that Hoseok got his arm stuck trying to dislodge a Snicker’s bar he bought. The fire department had to cut him out of it,” Kyungsoo overhears Yixing whisper.

“Also, the upcoming holiday means there’s no class on Friday. Not that it applies to our class, but I’m required to tell you nonetheless. Finally, Cindy will be…”

Baekhyun screams at the top of his lungs, overjoyed once he realizes that his presentation will be postponed until the following Friday. 

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, our regular Monday model will be gone for the next three classes. In the meantime, we’ll have a substitute. I expect you all,” Yifan focuses his attention on the now quiet Baekhyun, “to be on your best behavior.”

“Wait, what happened to Cindy?” Minseok inquired.

“Her daughter is sick with Mono. She has to stay home and take care of her.”

“Ah, Cindy is a MILF. I knew it,” Baekhyun whispers to Kyungsoo.

At least, he only thinks he whispers since everyone in the classroom hears him just fine. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. Baekhyun wouldn’t know the definition of subtle if it slapped him across the face. 

_Although,_ Kyungsoo thinks, _he should slap him sometime to see if that hypothesis holds true. For science…_

“Byun,” Yifan sighs disappointedly. “Let’s not do this today.”

Baekhyun throws his hands up innocently as if he doesn’t continuously test the art instructor’s patience.

“Our new model should be here any minute, so get your paper ready. I want to start as soon as possible when he arrives.” Yifan announces as he finishes ticking off attendance on his roster. “We’ll be focusing on forced perspective today. Can anyone tell me, what that means?”

Only one hand goes up, per usual.

“Yes, Minseok.”

“It means we draw a part of the body exaggeratedly large to give the optical illusion of depth.”

“Correct!” Yifan golf claps in appreciation. “So, we’ll be doing a few short poses to practice at first. After the break, we’ll focus in on a single pose and refine it for our critique next class. It counts as your midterm grade, so put in some real effort this time.”

As Yifan unmistakably coughs in Baekhyun’s direction, the studio door bursts open. A mop of white hair and long, gangly limbs stumble into the room. The stranger spills some coffee on the side of his ripped jeans as he struggles to keep his backpack from sliding off his shoulder. After such a haphazard entrance, all eyes are fixated on the beautiful man.

“I’m so sorry for being late. I got lost,” the intruder sheepishly apologizes.

“No problem. There’s a partition over there,” Yifan points to a screened off area in the corner, “that you can change behind.”

“Thank you,” the man smiles brightly and rushes behind the divider.

“Oh. My. God.” Baekhyun huffs out.

Kyungsoo swallows harshly because he too has just seen the face of God. Would it be weird to declare this unknown Adonis as his new religion? Perhaps. Is that fact going to stop him? Definitely not…

“I’d pay good money for five minutes with him if you know what I mean,” mutters Baekhyun breathily.

He may or may not have a concussion at how hard Kyungsoo smacks him upside the head.

Not that Kyungsoo is innocent. In fact, he’s quite far from it, seeing as he can’t keep his eyes away from the stranger’s faint silhouette. His throat goes dry when he realizes that he’s going to have to keep it together while staring at this man’s nude form for the next 3 hours. Kyungsoo isn’t sure he has that kind of self-control.

The model finally steps out from behind the screen, caramel toned skin wrapped tightly in a dusty rose-colored robe. Kyungsoo wants to say the robe is silk but the only way to confirm that information would be to feel it under his fingertips. Not that he’d be opposed to being in the model’s personal space, but it might be a bit awkward seeing as the stranger doesn’t even know his name.

A whistle resounds from somewhere in the classroom, but Kyungsoo knows it’s just Baekhyun and his dirty thoughts leaking out again. The model’s cheeks burst into a pink tone, making his face match the thin robe. Jongin pulls the fluttering string tighter as if can protect him from the infamous Byun Baekhyun. Spoiler alert: it can’t.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Yifan smiles encouragingly.

“Hello, my name is Kim Jongin,” he bows but holds firmly onto his robe to avoid exposing himself, to Baekhyun’s chagrin. “I’m a second-year dance student and I’ll be your model for the next few Mondays. Please be kind to me!”

“Can he get any softer?” Baekhyun coos. “Oh god, I would love to wreck him.”

Kyungsoo is too distracted to beat Baekhyun senseless for his perverted comment. Jongin’s plush lips stretch thin into a dazzling smile and Kyungsoo thinks his heart may have skipped a few beats. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of that supple mouth, especially when a tongue darts out to moisten them.

He shakes his head aggressively. Kyungsoo needs to get his thoughts in order before his gay starts showing. He’d rather not proclaim it to the class like Baekhyun did on the first day. He has more tact than that.

“You’ll need four sheets of paper today,” Yifan instructs and the classroom is temporarily in chaos at everyone rushing forward to the communal stack for their supplies. 

Instead of trying to get them to behave, Yifan plugs in the school speakers and digs out an aux cord from his bag. “Who’s playing music today?”

A thin boy with sleepy eyes slides off his stool and meanders over to the sound system.

“No, no, no. Not you, Yixing.” Yifan momentarily slips into his native tongue. “I can’t stand to hear screamo remixes of Tibetan chants again without wanting to murder someone.”

The tired boy pouts and halts his walking.

“But, Mt. Never Rest is good music,” Yixing protests.

“No.”

“Just one song?”

“No, go sit down.” Yifan practically screeches. “I’ll choose the music today.”

“What are they arguing about?” Kyungsoo asks, perplexed. 

He really should have studied harder in his foreign language courses, but frankly, he wasn’t that interested. It didn’t help that the classes were always scheduled at 8 am and his brain refused to function before noon.

Minseok responds in a whisper, “something about the music we’re going to listen to today, but I don’t know exactly.”

“Oh god, I can’t bear to hear three hours of screaming again,” Baekhyun ironically screams in agony and pulls at his hair.

“Don’t worry, The Beatles will keep us company today,” Yifan interjects.

“So…” Jongin trails off.

“Ah, yes. We have the pedestal and cushions all set up for you. If you could start out with a few leaning poses that would be great. I’ll tell you when to switch positions but if you’re ever uncomfortable, let me know. We usually take a break part way through as well.” Yifan instructs while setting up the spotlights and angling them toward the small staging area.

Nimble fingers quickly untie the silky sash and the rose colored-robe glides elegantly through the air, pooling at Jongin’s feet. Lean, muscular legs flex slightly when he steps up onto the platform. The spotlights shining down on Jongin highlight his warm, bronze skin tone. He stretches his arms out and scratches a spot on his well-defined abs before sitting on the pedestal.

Kyungsoo wants to drop his jaw like one of those ridiculous cartoon characters, but now isn’t the time to look like a complete idiot. 

Plus, Baekhyun is drooling enough for the both of them.

“Let’s start with your back toward the students,” Yifan suggests to Jongin before addressing his students. “Class, remember to focus in on that center dividing line down his back. I noticed a few of you forgot it last time and I’m tired of grading your asymmetrical disasters.”

Jongin adjusts a few cushions on the platform and drapes himself over the pillows. He lies on his right side, shifting a little. Jongin stretches his right leg out and bends his left on top of it. Finally reaching a state of comfort, he collapses his head down onto his arm with a sigh.

Kyungsoo wills himself to focus on Jongin as the subject of his art, rather than a nude god. He’s not objectifying the gorgeous model, which would make him feel disgusting. Instead, Kyungsoo emotionally detaches himself from the situation and puts his energy into accurately drawing the figure.

Each dip of Jongin’s body becomes a line and each glowing stretch of skin becomes a pattern of shade and highlight. Before he notices, four poses have gone by and the class is half over. His time with Jongin is half over. Kyungsoo sighs at the realization but is secretly glad that he didn’t pop a boner in the middle of class. That would be a less than ideal situation.

Jongin retrieves the previously discarded robe and covers his body as quickly as possible. It’s almost as if he’s uncomfortable having his body on display, which is odd given that Jongin chose to pose for their class. 

“Damn, how does he manage to look even hotter putting clothes on?” 

A blush spread across Jongin’s face. Clearly, he overheard the comment. Kyungsoo loves how flustered the model gets, even if it’s from Baekhyun’s lack of filter.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Jongin asks Yifan.

“Turn right when you exit the room and it’s the last door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts behind Jongin, Baekhyun excitedly swivels on his stool. Kyungsoo can tell that his friend has been eagerly waiting to say something based on how fidgety he has been for the past hour.

“Do you think he’s a top or a bottom?”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes so far into his head that he thinks he might see his brain. “You can’t assume that he’s gay.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Top or bottom?”

“Neither,” Kyungsoo sighs. “I bet he’s hella straight.”

“So is a nail until you pound it repeatedly.”

Baekhyun smirks, just barely moving out of Kyungsoo’s reach and the painful hit he would have received.

“Stop trying to make every attractive guy to fit your twisted gay fantasies.”

“Ah hah,” Baekhyun jabs a finger toward Kyungsoo’s face. “You admit it then.”

“Admit what?”

“You think he’s attractive.”

“What is this, middle school? Stop acting like a child. He’s attractive but I’m not attracted to him. There’s a difference.”

“Bullshit! I saw how you were ogling him.” Baekhyun makes a show of pretending to swoon in mockery, “it was heart eyes for days.”

“Whatever. Just shut the fuck up and leave him alone, or I’ll lobotomize you with a dull pencil.”

“As if,” Baekhyun jests. “But seriously, I hope he’s a switch. I like to keep things interesting in the bedroom if you know what I mean.”

Kyungsoo furrows his brow in confusion, “aren’t you with Chanyeol right now?”

“Nah,” Baekhyun swats his hand through the air nonchalantly, “we’re taking a break.”

“Didn’t you just take a break two weeks ago? And another one a month before that?”

“Yeah, so I have to make my move on Jongin before that awkward giraffe begs me to date him again. Obviously, I’m going to say yes when he does.”

“Why do you do this?” Kyungsoo asks, frustrated at his friend’s phobia of commitment.

“Do what, be a pervert? It’s in my blood. I thought you knew that by now.”

“No, keep up this on-again-off-again relationship. It seems exhausting. Don’t you have more self-respect than that?”

“It’s simple, really. Angry break-up sex is awesome and make-up sex is even better.”

Kyungsoo has to force himself not to vomit up his lunch, “I did not need to know about your sex life.”

“You asked,” Baekhyun shrugs.

“Yeah, well, I’d like to go back in time and pretend it never happened.”

“Whatever.”

Kyungsoo takes advantage of the stilled conversation to review his sketches. The first one could have been better but to be fair, he was still warming up for the day. He can always go back and make a few adjustments with the highlights to take it up a notch. The next two are pretty good and Kyungsoo is pleasantly surprised at his ability to focus on making art rather than eyeing the gorgeous model.

Unfortunately, Baekhyun feels that the silence between them is stifling and takes it as his responsibility to continue speaking.

“I bet you hope Jongin is a top so you can get it good. I mean, he’s a dance major. He knows how to work those hips,” his obnoxious friend wiggles his eyebrows and does a little shuffle with his hips to emphasize his point.

All Kyungsoo can do is laugh at the ridiculous statement.

“Baek, you do realize that I’m not a bottom, right?”

“What?” Baekhyun nearly falls off his stool in shock. “But you’re so small and squishy. Your whole-body screams bottom.”

Kyungsoo glares at him with the force of Satan, “I’m not a bottom.”

“Why do you say that like it’s offensive?”

“Why am I talking to you about this?” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes as he flips over his drawings and smooths down a blank page.

“I bet you’d be a bottom if Jongin asked you to be one.”

“No way in hell,” Kyungsoo enunciates each word sharply to drive his point home, “am I letting anything go in my ass.”

There’s a scoff as Baekhyun loudly insists, “there’s nothing wrong with taking it up the butt.”

“Strike one, Byun,” Yifan sighs out from the front of the room.

Baekhyun goes to open his mouth and argue against what must be Yifan’s blatant discrimination against him. What else would possibly explain why he’s always getting in trouble? He’s an absolute angel.

Yifan raises his hand to stop Baekhyun’s defense, “I have nothing against what you like to do, or not do, in your free time. I do, however, think that your conversation with Mr. Do should be relevant and appropriate to art.”

“Yes, Mr. Wu,” Baekhyun pouts, but not before muttering under his breath, “but I’d like to point out that getting fucked six ways to Sunday is definitely an art form.”

“Come again?”

“Nothing,” Baekhyun responds, smiling in a way that makes it very clear he said something questionable.

Before Yifan can interrogate the sassy brat any further, Jongin slips into the room. The door creaks loudly behind him and shuts with a thud. Once again, every student turns their attention to the model. He blushes vibrantly, suddenly reverting to a shy state despite baring it all only a few minutes prior. 

Jongin shuffles over to the pedestal, taking a seat on the edge and taking care not to expose himself any more than the class requires. He sips his room temperature latte and scans the room for a familiar face, letting forth a defeated sigh when he fails to recognize anyone. The next ten minutes are going to drag on forever, Jongin just knows it.

His heart skips a beat when a tuff of black hair appears from the other side of an easel. Funny, he didn’t notice anyone sitting over there when he first observed the art students. When the mysterious student’s wide eyes and heart-shaped lips come into view, Jongin’s heart does a jig. 

Of course, it would be his luck that the beautiful Do Kyungsoo would be in this class. Jongin has only had the biggest crush on the elder since his second week of university when they got in a bicycle accident. He’s not even sure Kyungsoo remembers what happened back then, but Jongin definitely walked away from the experience a changed man. 

Ever since that day, Jongin quietly admires the owl-eyed man from afar. His best friend, Taemin, likes to tease him about it because Jongin still hasn’t mustered enough courage to say anything to the dark-haired junior. Perhaps, this is fate’s way of giving him an opportunity. He would be a fool not to take it but Jongin is the biggest fool of all. He’d much rather get through the next few classes and resume his long-distance pining than face potential rejection. His heart wouldn’t be able to recover if Kyungsoo refused him.

Unfortunately, Jongin doesn’t realize that his staring is far from subtle, nor that one particular classroom deviant thinks the look of adoration is aimed in his direction.

Baekhyun takes no time to saunter over to the pedestal and slide himself next to the dazed model. He smiles cheerfully in an attempt to appear like an innocent child. Jongin still gulps warily at the man intruding on his personal space.

“Byun, what have I…” Yifan begins, only for his phone to inconveniently ring. “I have to take this, but I’ll be right back. In the meantime,” he glances pointedly at Baekhyun, “no funny business.”

“Aye, aye captain,” Baekhyun mockingly salutes.

“Junmyeon, what’s wrong? No, I’m sure it doesn’t matter. Just buy the other food. Mittens won’t care, he’s a cat. No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t cry, honey,” Yifan speaks impatiently into the phone, his voice fading away with every step he takes out of the studio.

“Where were we?” Baekhyun leans further into Jongin’s space and winks suggestively.

“Um, right here?” Jongin stutters and leans away. 

“You’re so cute,” he squeals as he boops Jongin’s nose.

“Thanks?”

“I’m Baekhyun.”

“I’m…”

“Sex on legs, I know.”

Jongin’s eyes widen and his discomfort becomes apparent to everyone but Baekhyun. Perhaps the obnoxious flirt doesn’t realize how creepy he comes across sometimes. It could be that he knows and just doesn’t give a damn. Kyungsoo would put good money on the latter. 

“I…uh…”

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?” 

Jongin is at a loss for words when Baekhyun runs his fingers through the model’s fluffy white hair. He gulps and frantically tries to make eye contact with someone, but everyone’s too absorbed in their phones at the moment. He does his best to push away Baekhyun’s greedy fingers but his attempts are futile. For some reason, his resistance is taken as playing coy.

If he were paying attention, then Jongin would have noticed a certain raven-haired hero coming to his rescue. 

Right as Baekhyun traces a finger along Jongin’s jawline, he receives a harsh slap on the hand. 

“Keep your hands to yourself, Baek,” Kyungsoo growls, while yanking Baekhyun away from a very horrified Jongin.

“We were just talking.”

“Bullshit. Now apologize.” Kyungsoo grasps the fine hairs on the back of Baekhyun’s neck and twists until he cowers before Jongin.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“For?” Kyungsoo grips even tighter this time.

“For being a creep,” Baekhyun shouts out in pain and starts tapping against Kyungsoo for relief. “Uncle! Uncle! I give up!”

“What’s going on here?” An infuriated Yifan demands from the doorway, his hand clenched in a tight fist around his cell phone.

“Nothing.” Baekhyun peeps up, only to be pulled into one of Kyungsoo’s infamous headlocks.

“Baekhyun here was feeling up the model,” Kyungsoo glares into his best friend’s soul, “again.”

“What have I told you about touching the models? They aren’t something for you to toy around with or ogle at. They are people just like you or me and they don’t appreciate being objectified for your sick perversions, right Jongin?”

Jongin can only nod in agreement, overwhelmed by everything that just happened.

“If you touch anyone without their consent again, I’ll make sure that you’re permanently banned from the art department,” Yifan threatens in a tone that lets everyone know he’s dead serious.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” Baekhyun embarrassed, slinks back to his seat and tries to hide his shame behind the large easel board.

Kyungsoo whispers to the rattled model, “are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No problem,” Kyungsoo gives a warmhearted smile. “Let me know if he bugs you anymore and I’ll take care of it.”

Jongin nods once more, too enamored by the proximity of his long-time crush. Even though he isn’t a fan of Baekhyun diving into his personal space, he might consider it in the future if it means Kyungsoo will be there to save him. 

Or he could just stop watching so many dramas and quit acting like one of those manic pixie dream girls.

“We’re finishing up with our last pose. Remember, it’s a good portion of your grade.” Yifan turns to the class and sighs, “will someone please wake Yixing up?”

“I’m on it,” Luhan responds, violently shaking the sleeping Yixing. “LAY! CLASS IS STARTING!”

Yixing yawns languidly and addresses Yifan, “just five more minutes, Mom.”

“Whatever,” Yifan throws his hands up in the air in defeat and frustration that this is his life now.

Yifan interrupts Jongin’s thoughts, “so, for the last pose, it will be standing for about an hour. I’ll give you a chance to stretch every twenty minutes so you don’t have you worry about being uncomfortable.”

“Thank you. That’s very considerate.” 

Jongin bows slightly as he tosses the robe aside once again. He stands on the platform, making a conscious effort to not lock his knees. Jongin made that mistake before and ended up collapsing on the floor like an idiot. He’d rather not embarrass himself today. 

Then again, Kyungsoo may come to help him up.

Or Baekhyun would try to assist him and he’d rather not risk dealing with the handsy blonde.

Leaning back against a support beam, Jongin loses himself in his thoughts. He barely registers the few times that Yifan lets him reposition himself. However, he does steal a few glances in Kyungsoo’s direction once in a while. It’s unfortunate that the easel blocks the majority of Jongin’s view but it’s worth it to see the concentrated look on Kyungsoo’s face every once in a while. 

Meanwhile, Kyungsoo tries his best to capture Jongin’s expression. There’s a tinge of melancholy behind the model’s stoic facial expression. If he can figure out the right combination of lines to portray that sentiment, then Kyungsoo knows he’ll get a decent grade. 

He turns to the easel next to him, trying to get an idea of his skills in relation to other students. Baekhyun’s sketch is quite masterful and Kyungsoo is reminded that his best friend is indeed an art major. Yet, in a typical Baekhyun fashion, he’s pushed the limits of the assignment to the extreme. 

Taking up the majority of the page is a well-rendered, larger than life penis.

Kyungsoo would choke back his surprise, but nothing fazes him when it comes to Baekhyun.

“Baek.”

“Yes, Kyung?” Baekhyun turns to him, a smudge of charcoal on one cheek.

“What,” he pauses for emphasis, “is that?”

“The assignment. Why?” Baekhyun has the gall to smirk at him, “see something you like?”

For once, Kyungsoo sputters and fails to answer. Baekhyun wouldn’t be wrong, he does enjoy a certain someone’s well-endowed anatomy. Yet, he’s not about to let anyone in on the secret that he’s thirsty for a tall glass of water named Jongin.

“That’s what I thought.”

“That’s time!” Yifan announces and promptly shuts off the spotlights. “Please clean up your area and don’t forget to clear out the tray in your easels.”

Baekhyun dusts off his hands and proceeds to jam all his art supplies back into his tote bag. For an art major, one would think he’d take better care of his tools. Kyungsoo prefers to meticulously set each stick of charcoal back in their original box. Perhaps that’s why it takes him twice as long to finish cleaning up.

A few students help rearrange the room for the next class while Yifan starts collapsing the easels and stacking the stools against the back wall. He hums a little tune and starts daydreaming about the last day of the semester. Summer vacation can’t come soon enough.

That thought holds especially true for Yifan once he spies Baekhyun’s masterpiece.

“BYUN!” Yifan shouts out in irritation.

“Yes, Mr. Wu,” Baekhyun has the nerve to bat his eyelashes as he saunters over to his newly discovered sketch.

“Care to explain your drawing?”

“The assignment was forced perspective, so I focused on one part of the body and emphasized it.” Baekhyun gestures at his sketch, like Vanna White on that one American game show, “it’s called art. Look it up.”

Yifan turns beet red, seeing as he can’t really argue against the loose parameters he set for the day, “My office. Now.”

“But this was the assignment so…”

“That’s beside the point, Byun. Office,” Yifan barks out, marching out of the studio to lecture Baekhyun in the room around the corner.

“I’ll catch you later, Kyung!” Baekhyun shouts out as he grabs his art supplies and rushes out the door.

“See ya,” Kyungsoo responds, while sliding the last of his charcoal boxes into his backpack.

As the last of the class trickles out of the room, Kyungsoo notices a finger-shaped smudge on the corner of his drawing. He could leave it until next time, but knowing that imperfection exists is enough to keep him up at night. Instead of suffering from anxiety-induced insomnia, he searches in his bag for a kneaded eraser. A quick dab and the coal marks are gone, leaving Kyungsoo feeling at ease. Now, all that’s left is to wash up and head home, where he can sleep off the rest of this arduous day.

By the time he rinses the soap off his hands and dries them on one of the numerous towels, Kyungsoo has forgotten that he’s not the only one left in the room. In fact, he almost crashes into Jongin when he turns away from the sink. The dance major has his backpack slung over his shoulder and is bundled back up in his clothes. Kyungsoo wouldn’t admit it, but after staring at Jongin’s form for so long, it seems unnatural to see him dressed.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s fine,” Jongin stutters out shyly, a faint pink splashing across his cheeks.

“I’m Kyungsoo, by the way.”

“I know.” He responds a little too quickly, causing his cheeks to flush to a bold crimson. “I mean, from earlier.”

_Smooth Jongin, real smooth._

Kyungsoo scratches the back of his neck nervously, distinctly remembering that he never gave his name to the model. Not that he’s complaining about an extremely attractive nude model knowing his name. Actually, he’s quite curious how Jongin found out about him. However, now’s not the right time to be investigating and he doesn’t want to embarrass Jongin, so he plays along.

“Oh, right.”

The two students awkwardly stand there. Jongin shuffles his feet back and forth, trying to think of something more to say. He doesn’t want to part ways quite yet. Fortunately, Kyungsoo beats him to the punch and the weird tension between them dissipates.

“Are you the Jongin that Sehun always talks about?”

Jongin looks up from his feet excitedly. “Yeah, he’s one of my closest friends! You know Sehun?”

“Um, kind of…?” Kyungsoo shrugs because it’s the truth. “Baekhyun, you know, the one who was all up in your business earlier, has a thing for him. He’s been trying to get into Sehun’s pants for a while now.”

A rich, squeaking laugh fills the air as Jongin doubles over in laughter. Everything about the pure sound of happiness has Kyungsoo swooning.

“Wait, what’s so funny?”

“I can’t say. I promised not to reveal Sehun’s secrets.”

“Ah.”

“Let’s just say,” Jongin’s eyes scan the room as if Sehun could be hiding anywhere, “that a certain someone is playing hard to get.”

A deep chuckle resonates through the room as well, making Jongin continue with his giggling. He could write odes to the breathy melody filling his ears. The sound erupting from Kyungsoo’s parted lips is more beautiful than a classical symphony, more inviting than the crackle of a fireplace, and more pleasing than waves crashing against the shore. 

Jongin’s in deep.

Kyungsoo clears his throat as Jongin’s laughter fades out to a warm smile. Now’s his chance. If he wants to see Jongin again outside of a mandatory three-hour window, he needs to make a move pronto. 

_Don’t fuck this up, Kyungsoo._

“Sehun is having a party this weekend. Are you going?”

“I might if you’ll be there,” Jongin murmurs and Kyungsoo barely manages to catch what he says.

He’s flabbergasted at the juxtaposition between the model’s bold words and timid demeanor. How could someone be so soft while making such confident statements? It’s enough to make Kyungsoo’s heart race.

“I…um…yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Jongin beams at the flustered answer and Kyungsoo can’t help but reciprocate the smile. His plush lips part into a heart shape. If he were paying close attention, Kyungsoo probably could have heard Jongin’s heart skip a few beats.

“Cool, cool,” Jongin repeats, gripping the straps of his backpack and slowly backing toward the door. “Well, I have to get going. I’ll see you around.”

Kyungsoo brazenly pipes up, “I hope.”

Jongin can’t hold back the grin stretching across his face nor the slight skip in his step as he exits the art building. The sight of Kyungsoo’s heart-shaped smile replaying in his mind. It almost makes him want to proclaim his love from the top of the university tower.

Is it too early to say he’s absolutely smitten?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this story a little cliché?  
> Yes.
> 
> Do I give a fuck?
> 
> No.  
> No, I do not.

If Jongin has to hear one more middle-aged man going on about how pretty he is, he’s going to scream.

He only signed up to model for a local artist doing a study of hands, not to be harassed by some guy who can’t keep it in his pants. At least Jongin didn’t have to model nude this time. Otherwise, he’d probably quit and be reduced to begging for change on the street in order to pay for his tuition.

Despite those few uncomfortable hours on Tuesday afternoon, things seemed to be going well this week. Jongin managed to stay awake every morning for his French class and avoid the usual lecture that his professor would give him about paying attention. His Psychology midterm came back and he somehow ended up with an A. Jongin even found a way to get some extra practice hours in at the dance studio.

All in all, it was actually a great week, but he was so preoccupied the entire time that he couldn’t fully enjoy it.

He couldn’t keep his mind away from entertaining thoughts of Kyungsoo and their encounter in the art room. Jongin didn’t expect to speak to see his crush, nonetheless speak with him. He’s never been good at reading people’s non-verbal cues but he sure hopes that Kyungsoo likes him. Jongin’s stomach flutters uncontrollably at the possibility.

Jongin’s bony hands dig around in the front pocket of his dark blue backpack, searching for that familiar jingle of his house keys. Meeting the feeling of cold metal, he yanks out the set. Jongin fumbles slightly with the numerous keys filling his lanyard, most of which are spares to his friends’ apartments. Eventually, he slides a silver key into the doorknob and kicks his shoes off inside the door.

“Taemin,” Jongin screeches as he throws the door shut behind him. “I’m home.”

Attempting to toss his keys in the bowl by the shoe stand, he overshoots the target and hears the tinkling sound of metal hitting the wood floor. He’s too lazy to crawl around searching for them right now, making a note to retrieve them later.

A voice hollers back from somewhere in the depths of their apartment, “how was tutoring?”

“Shitty. I don’t know why I keep going. It’s not like I’m learning anything. My brain short circuits anytime someone says the word math.”

As soon as the horrendous word _math_ leaves Jongin’s throat, Taemin emerges from around the corner dressed to the nines. Adorning his body is a dark blazer with only the center button connected and no shirt underneath, leaving little to the imagination. Coupled with tight, black skinny jeans and precise makeup, Taemin looks phenomenal. Jongin might have been interested if said person wasn’t his best friend.

It’s hard to find Taemin attractive when Jongin has witnessed him picking his nose and flicking it behind the couch on several occasions. 

“Wow. Why are you so dressed up?”

“The party.” Taemin pauses as if Jongin knows exactly what he’s talking about, only to receive a confused look in return. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“The party is on Friday.”

“Yeah. Today is Friday.”

Jongin blinks slowly and purses his lips in a judgmental way, “it’s Thursday, Taemin, but nice try.”

Rather than wasting his time arguing back and forth with his best friend, Taemin digs around inside his blazer, searching for the secret pocket. His fingers collide with a rectangular object and he yanks out his cellphone. Clicking the side to illuminate the screen, he aggressively shoves the device in Jongin’s face.

Jongin shuts his eyes at first, blinded by the glaring brightness. Once he regains his vision, he can make out the standard display font distinctly stating Friday.

“Fine,” he huffs out and turns away, not wanting to see the smug look of satisfaction on Taemin’s face. “It’s Friday. Happy now?”

“Yeees, very,” Taemin answers conceitedly.

Rolling his eyes, Jongin slides his backpack off his left shoulder and chucks it onto their small couch. He should probably care more about the textbooks inside, given that they’re worth more than his life, but Jongin is too tired to give a fuck. All he wants is to collapse onto his bed and sleep for five years.

However, Taemin blocks Jongin’s path to his bedroom, awkwardly standing there while blinking rapidly, as if waiting for a response. In all honesty, his best friend probably wants him to find somewhere else to stay tonight so he can bring home that pretty theatre guy again. 

Last time, Jongin didn’t get the memo and he’s still scarred by the noises etched in his memory. 

He can’t even make eye-contact with Jonghyun anymore.

Shuddering at the traumatic memories, Jongin mentally compiles a list of people with an empty couch he can crash on. There’s not a lot of options, but he guesses Sehun might be sympathetic. If all else fails, he can just use a spare key and crash at Wonshik’s place.

“Are you going to get ready?”

“What?”

Taemin stares blankly at Jongin’s stupidity, “for the party.”

“I don’t really want to go,” Jongin half-whines as he turns away and heads into the kitchen, digging around their designated snack cabinet.

If he can’t take a nap, he might as well do something about his dwindling blood sugar.

Apparently, Taemin forgot about their conversation regarding personal space. The lanky dancer stands uncomfortably close to Jongin until warm breath tickles the nape of his neck. Jongin swats behind him, hoping that his flopping hand will come in contact with his roommate’s face. Unfazed with the attempted assault to his pretty face, Taemin continues to invade his personal bubble.

“Didn’t you say Kyungsoo was going?”

“I said maybe,” Jongin shrugs as he chomps down on a granola bar that tastes vaguely like it’s made out of honey-coated sawdust.

Delicious.

“Maybe, you’ll have to go,” Taemin smirks annoyingly, “just in case.”

Jongin takes the opportunity to slide past Taemin and head straight toward his room. If he’s lucky, he can make it in time to lock the door behind him. That way, Jongin can rest in peace and not have to worry about going to some alcohol-fueled dance orgy. 

Unfortunately, luck is not on his side, as Taemin shoves past the door being aggressively closed in his face.

“But Nini,” Taemin pouts.

“Don’t call me that.” Too tired to wrestle Taemin out of his room, Jongin caves. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go.”

Taemin stares at him dumbstruck and Jongin can’t help but wonder if his friend always looks that clueless.

“Aren’t you going to change first?”

Jongin scrunches his forehead and looks down at his attire: some faded mom jeans and his favorite sweater with the black and white horizontal stripes. Sure, his left sock has a hole in it at the big toe, but nobody gives a fuck about what socks he’s wearing if they’re hidden in his shoes. He spent most of the day studying so there was no point to dress up nice, but it’s not like anyone goes to a college house party in their evening wear.

“Um, no?”

Taemin’s dark brown eyes bulge comically and Jongin’s sure that his best friend’s internal monologue is screaming at an inhuman decibel range.

“You probably should.”

Jongin clutches the edge of his sweater as he inspects the slightly pilled material. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“I’m not even going to answer that,” Taemin responds sassily, raising a hand as if to stop Jongin from digging himself deeper in the pit of fashion disasters. 

Before Jongin knows it, Taemin barges into his closet and begins sifting through the mess he keeps hidden behind the sliding doors. A pile quickly begins to form at Jongin’s feet and he recognizes a few pieces that he forgot he owned. There’s a white hoodie with black geometric designs, a jersey from some team named Exoplanet, and a couple of overwhelming floral print shirts. He really should clear out some of this stuff, but he just can’t seem to part with anything.

“Taemin, I’m just going to wear this,” he whines out, already annoyed at the mess of clothes all over his room that Taemin isn’t going to clean up.

“The fuck you are.”

A groan escapes from Jongin’s throat as his frustration starts to bubble to the surface. At the same time, Taemin finally materializes from inside the closet grinning from ear to ear. Clutched in his hand is a pair of black leather pants with suspenders attached. Jongin doesn’t even know how his friend was able to find them, distinctly remembering that he buried them in the darkest corner of his closet.

“No.”

“C’mon, they’ll look great!”

“No, they’re uncomfortable,” Jongin pouts and shakes his head back and forth. “I always get a wedgie.”

“Then why do you still have them?” Taemin interrogates him with a hand on his hip and lips pursed.

“For dance performances,” he sheepishly responds and then mumbles, “so I can look sexy.”

“Sexy? Okay then,” Taemin tosses them on the edge of Jongin’s bed before heading out of the room. “Put them on. I’ll be right back.”

It’s definitely a demand and not a suggestion.

Taemin bounds to his room and slides a box out from under his bed. Inside, rests a worn-out pair of black combat boots that he’s sure will add a nice flare to Jongin’s already improving outfit. He hurries back to his roommate, not wanting to leave Jongin alone long enough to escape from his makeover.

As he steps through the door, Taemin witnesses a pitiful sight. Jongin’s face is scrunched up half in pain and half in complete determination. He’s sucking in his stomach as much as possible and tugging up on the pants zipper, failing to notice that the real issue is his zipper is caught in the fabric. Instead of saying anything, Taemin sighs heavily. 

And people say he’s the dumb one. 

Gripping both sides of the pants, he yanks the material forward and buttons it. Taemin gives an endearing pat to Jongin’s stomach before the embarrassed dancer zips his fly. 

Jongin hurriedly slides on the old boots that Taemin brought him and stands up. He’s more than ready to depart already. In fact, if it takes much longer, then Jongin is just going to bail on the party altogether. It’s not worth the effort. However, Taemin continues to stand directly in front of him and gives Jongin judging glances every few seconds.

“What?”

“Are you not going to change your shirt too?”

“I like this sweater though,” Jongin grumbles as he tugs on the bottom hem.

“You look like the Hamburglar.”

Jongin pouts and furrows his eyebrows, a little offended at being compared to a McDonald’s character. “I do not!”

Taemin exasperatedly throws his hands up in the air and walks out of the room. He definitely didn’t sign up to single-handedly save Jongin’s fashion sense. Honestly, he deserves a medal for all the work he’s doing.

Sighing in relief, Jongin’s false sense of security kicks in. If he plays his cards right, he might frustrate Taemin to the point where his friend won’t even want to take him to Sehun’s party. Then he can relax at home, maybe catch up on his Youtube queue, and order fried chicken from that place down the street. That would be ideal. 

Just when Jongin thinks he is in the clear, Taemin returns with something hiding behind his back. While curious, Jongin mostly wants this whole ordeal to be over with already.

“Close your eyes and lift up your arms.”

Shutting his eyes, Jongin’s face contorts in confusion over the strange instructions. They simply don’t make sense in the situation. He should really work on getting some smarter friends.

A light tug on his sweater and snipping sound has Jongin peeking through his eyelashes. His eyes widen comically at the sight before him.

There’s a glinting pair of scissors blazing through the knit yarn and a mischievous look in Taemin’s eyes. Part of his sweater dangles oddly at his side. Where his sweater used to be perfectly hemmed is a ragged edge.

“What are you doing?” Jongin shrieks, stumbling backward and yanking the sweater away from Taemin.

“Modifying.”

“Well, stop!”

“Okay,” Taemin raises his hands in defeat but the smile on his face says _this isn’t over yet._ “If you want to look like an idiot with a half-cut sweater, you’re doing a great job.”

Jongin groans and stomps his feet like a child, knowing that it’s too late to change the cuts. “Why are you like this?”

“You know you love me,” Taemin grins as he finishes cutting the excess off of the sweater. “Now, stay still.”

Before Jongin can protest, Taemin reaches up to the left side of the sweater, makes a small snip, and promptly rips it. A cold breeze blows across the new opening, making its wearer shiver.

“You ruined my sweater,” Jongin attempts to lace his words with anger.

“You look hot though.”

“My favorite sweater. Ruined.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You fucking cut off the bottom and ripped a hole in it!” Jongin barks out, his volume slowly increasing with each statement.

“Semantics.”

A screaming sound so obnoxious that it would rival a three-year-old’s temper tantrum bursts out of Jongin. He bunches his hair angrily in his fists. It’s incredulous that his best friend would pick something of sentimental value, proceed to destroy it, and act as if nothing happened. 

“Fine,” Taemin gestures wildly. “Whatever. I’ll buy you chicken tomorrow.”

Jongin continues to glare deep into his friend’s soul, but at least his sweater induced rage quiets down to a whimper. He’s so weak for chicken, but he can’t let Taemin get away with bribing him that easily. Last time he did that, he never got his chicken.

“Don’t think this lets you off the hook,” Jongin points like he’s scolding a child, which isn’t too far from the truth. “You still have to make it up to me. That sweater was a gift from my noona.”

“And a new sweater. God, you’re such a diva,” Taemin rolls his eyes dramatically and heads to their shared bathroom down the hall. 

Glancing over at the full mirror on his sliding closet door, Jongin can’t help but admire Taemin’s work. The tight leather pants accentuate his long, lean legs and narrow hips. A sliver of his taunt stomach peeks out in the space between the sinful pants and his formerly conservative sweater. 

Sure, he looks amazing, but Jongin’s starting to feel nervous.

What if Kyungsoo doesn’t think he looks hot? It is possible crop-top sweaters aren’t his thing. There would be nothing worse than finding out the man of his dreams is turned off by his appearance. Although, he could always blame Taemin for the disaster he’s wearing.

No, the worst situation would be if Kyungsoo doesn’t go at all.

That would be a waste of a perfectly good sweater.

Taemin yells from the bathroom, “get in here so I can do your eyeliner!”

A low grumble erupts from the back of Jongin’s throat. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he has to undergo pure torture. The last time he let Taemin near him with the pencil of death, he got stabbed in the eye and cried like a baby.

“Do you want to get laid?”

Fighting back his irritation, Jongin releases a sigh and trudges over to the bathroom. He’ll never admit it but sometimes Taemin is right.

Although, he’s a bit confused on what exactly about eyeliner is going to get him laid.

 

 

 

After nearly an hour of Taemin fussing over Jongin’s purposely messy hair and painting his cheeks with a metallic highlighter, they finally depart for the party. Jongin spends the ten-minute car ride ruminating over every possible scenario that could go wrong. Perhaps, he should have just stayed home. He’d much rather stay up all night button smashing his Nintendo controller and screaming at Mario Kart, but Kyungsoo might be at Sehun’s house. 

Kyungsoo is a pretty big motivator.

Taemin manages to find a parking spot down the street, which is surprising given the sheer number of people milling around their friend’s house. Jongin swears Sehun said it would be a small get-together, but then again, Sehun is quite the social butterfly. This overflowing affair might be considered small in his book.

Jongin double checks his outfit, silently wishing he could pull the ends of his sweater until the missing hem reappears. He catches a glimpse in the reflection of the car window and smiles proudly. He looks divine so maybe all the time and effort were worth it. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

He follows closely behind as Taemin turns the doorknob and invites himself in. To be fair, they’ve both visited the Oh family’s suburban dwelling more times than they can count. They practically live there.

However, Jongin isn’t necessarily a fan of parties. Something about the blaring loud music, hordes of sweaty bodies pushing against him, and smelling like he went swimming in a pool of vodka doesn’t appeal to him. Even though every fiber of his being would much rather stay home, Taemin would say he has to _yolo_ and _get turnt_.

Yolo is a generic brand carpe diem if you ask him.

The only _turnt_ that he wants to get is _turnt_ in the opposite direction.

“Here.”

A red Solo cup gets shoved into his chest. Jongin inspects his sweater for spills, even if it’s already destroyed beyond belief. He glances up to see who would dare risk slopping alcohol down his front, only to be faced with Taemin chugging from a similar looking cup. 

“What is it?” Jongin inquires as he sniffs the cup’s strange contents.

He quickly concludes that the mystery liquid is definitely alcoholic and ridiculously strong.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t really want to drink,” he attempts to hand the plastic cup back to his friend.

Taemin raises a flat palm in front of him, stopping the cup from leaving Jongin’s hands.

“Trust me, you’ll need it if your lover boy ever shows up.”

Jongin’s face rapidly shifts to a hue, not unlike the cup in his hands. He’d love to argue with Taemin, even going as far as opening his mouth a few times. Unfortunately, they both know that Jongin isn’t really outgoing enough to initiate a conversation with Kyungsoo, nonetheless try to take him home.

“There’s a reason it’s called _liquid courage_.” 

Taemin shoots a pressing look until Jongin caves and takes a sip. The concoction burns his throat on the way down and he swears that everything from his lips to his stomach is now disinfected. There’s a fruity aftertaste, which Jongin would normally appreciate, but is way too pungent when coupled with the liquor. He wrinkles up his face and sticks his tongue out as if it will magically clear the taste from his mouth. 

“That was absolutely disgusting.”

A smirk dances on his roommate’s face, “it’s Jongdae’s Jungle Juice, honey. It’s his specialty.”

“Ugh, yeah. No. I’m not about that poison.”

He glances around for a place to discard the cup, settling for an end table with wilted flowers.

“Oh, there’s Kibum. I’m going to go say hello. I’ll be right back,” Taemin shouts over the music.

“Sure,” Jongin mumbles out, knowing well enough that it will be a while before his friend returns.

Taemin has always been the more social one of them and has been known to forget he was hanging out with Jongin. Once, they were walking to the store only for Taemin to ditch him when Minho appeared on the other side of the street. When confronted about it later, his friend looked genuinely surprised to hear he was even hanging out with Jongin in the first place. 

Jongin weaves in and out of the crowd making sure not to interact with anyone beyond the bare minimum. After a few minutes, he finally stumbles into Sehun’s kitchen. The black granite counters are littered with half-empty bottles of liquor and enough red cups to serve the entire neighborhood for a few months. Scanning the various vessels of alcohol proves fruitless. Rather than drink something akin to hand sanitizer, he takes his chances with whatever Sehun has hidden in the fridge. Maybe, if he’s lucky, there’s a jug of apple juice.

He isn’t lucky.

While opening the fridge doors, someone gently squeezes his left hip, causing Jongin to leap in the air and swivel to face his attacker. He breathes a sigh of relief once he realizes that the stranger is actually his friend Sehun and not someone looking to proposition him. 

“Hey, man! How’s it going?” The orange-haired boy bellows out as he half-hugs Jongin.

“Um, good? I just needed something to drink,” he gestures around the kitchen.

“There’s Jungle Juice and a full-bar out by the pool.” Sehun notices the way Jongin’s eyes become the size of the moon at the mention of Jongdae’s beverage. “Or there’s beer in the fridge.”

“Thanks.”

Digging into the fridge, Jongin grabs a beer from the back, pops the top off, and takes a deep swig. He’s never really been a big fan of alcohol but he’s not about to drink a Snapple or some shit at a college party.

Sehun leans against the counter, nursing his own beer, “So, you’ve never come to one of my parties before. Why now?”

“No, no reason,” Jongin gulps and tries to obscure his blushing face by taking a prolonged drink.

Unfortunately, he’s always been easy to read. If his emotions were a book, they’d be at a kindergarten reading level and mostly consist of pictures.

“Ah, little Nini is crushing on someone?”

Jongin sputters out some of the beer he was trying to swallow, shaking his head rapidly, “no.”

“Mm-hmm. Who is it?”

“No one.”

“C’mon,” Sehun nudges his shoulder playfully. “I’m your best bro. Bros before hoes. Clique before dick.”

It isn’t like Jongin wants to keep secrets from his friend, he’s just really shy. If he even thinks about Kyungsoo, his face turns firetruck red and the words coming out of his mouth fail to make sense. Taemin has already taken it upon himself to embarrass the hell out of Jongin in public. He’d rather not add more fuel to the fire. 

“Is it me?”

A horrified look overtakes Jongin’s features while he practically shouts, “no, no, no. Ew.”

Sehun drops his jaw, forming his mouth into an oval shape. He melodramatically rests a hand on his chest and audibly gasps. 

“I mean, you’re attractive,” Jongin stutters out until he realizes Sehun only feigns being appalled. “You’re just not my type.”

“Oh,” Sehun relaxes and takes another sip of his beer. “You mean short, grumpy, and big eyes.”

Jongin’s body seems to temporarily shut down. There’s no possible way Sehun could know about his long-standing infatuation. He’s always been careful to maintain face or appear disinterested whenever their squad rambles on about love interests.

A chuckle spills forth from Sehun, “Taemin told me.”

“Fucking Taemin,” Jongin pouts at his best friend’s inability to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone,” Sehun reassures, knowing how quickly his fellow dancer can turn into a blubbering child. “But you probably won’t see Kyungsoo here. He’s a homebody, like you.”

For a moment, Jongin forgets that he’s standing in an over-priced kitchen with heavy bass blaring in the background. Instead, he imagines a quiet night in. On the couch, curled into his side is Kyungsoo. Some movie plays on the television, but he’s too enamored by the gentle flick of Kyungsoo’s eyelashes to know the plot. Jongin’s heart soars at the idea of passing the time with the object of his affection, especially knowing that all the drunk, horny college kids are living their best lives somewhere far away from him.

“Earth to Jongin?”

A hand waves in front of his face, pulling Jongin from his reverie. A wave of disappointment splashes over him as he realizes that the chances of Kyungsoo actually coming to Sehun’s party are slim to none. Then again, he’s always been shit at statistics…

“He said he would.”

Sehun’s eyebrows rise until they’re obscured by his brightly colored bangs. Something clicks in his mind at Jongin’s four words. Perhaps his friend’s adoration isn’t as unrequited as they all assumed, but he’ll leave Jongin to work that puzzle out on his own. It’s more entertaining that way.

“Ah, okay but,” Sehun pauses his thought as the phone in his hand buzzes. His eyes grow until Jongin thinks they might fall out of his head. “I have to get going. Someone spotted Baekhyun and I have to hide.”

“I thought you were into him?”

“Um, I thought he was cute in, like, high school, but that was a long time ago. He won’t leave me alone, even though I tell him I’m with Luhan now.” Sehun checks over his shoulder, paranoid that a certain puppy-like person will appear. “But, we should hang out sometime this week. Catch up.”

“Yeah, that would be cool.”

The phone buzzes again, this time in three quick bursts. “Shit, shit, shit! I’ll message you,” Sehun shouts out behind him as he races up the stairs and searches for an empty room to lock himself inside.

He throws back the last swig of his beer and nestles the bottle into the recycling bin that Mrs. Oh so adamantly demands that they use. Jongin laughs to himself at Sehun’s predicament, knowing it will only be a thousand times worse when his mother finds the empty beer bottle in the designated tray under the sink since she still believes her son is the epitome of innocence. He’d feel bad, but he owes Sehun one after the younger sneakily loaded his ramen with spicy chili paste. 

A bony hand attaches itself to Jongin’s wrist and he feels himself being tugged away from his safe haven. He’s thrown back into the pack of wild animals grinding against each other and desperately hoping to get laid. Not that he’s opposed to random hook-ups, Jongin just considers himself more of a long-term relationship guy. 

Taemin excitedly squeals in his ear, “c’mon Nini. Let’s go dance!”

While Jongin would rather sneak back into the kitchen, he absolutely loves dancing. Taemin knows exactly how to play off of his weaknesses. Example A: the fact that he’s at this party in the first place.

After shoving past a few people, the two roommates end up at the center of the unofficial dance floor. Surprisingly enough, there are not as many people. Jongin assumes the vast majority of people are out back, getting their fill of Sehun’s expensive taste in alcohol. Not that he minds, it’s fewer people he has to elbow past.

Before he knows it, Jongin loses himself to the music. Three, maybe, four songs have gone by in quick succession. Beads of sweat drip down the back of his neck and a small part of him regrets wearing the sweater in the first place. He’s no longer concerned about everyone around him. Quite a few people have cleared out space for him to move, eyeing him lustfully as he gyrates his hips to the beat. There’s a reason he has been building up a reputation among the student body, at least the ones who frequent the university dance shows. 

That one Lady Gaga song comes on next. Jongin recalls that it was super popular a few years back, but he can’t remember the name so it must not have been that great of a song, to begin with. Nevertheless, his body rolls with the melody to the best of his ability.

“Loverboy at 9:00,” a voice shouts into his ear.

A perplexed Jongin squints at Taemin, unsure what the latter is referring to in the first place. His line of sight follows a pointing finger until he meets the eyes of the one person he wanted to see. Luckily, they’re far enough away that Kyungsoo can’t see Jongin audibly gulp and run his tongue across his lower lip.

Kyungsoo nurses a red cup of his one, raising his eyebrows as his gaze bores holes into Jongin’s soul. There’s something sinful about the way his black hair is styled up perfectly and his lips glisten from the alcoholic beverage. The tight black jeans and sexy leather jacket adorning Kyungsoo’s frame has Jongin melting. It looks like the elder walked straight out of one of his wet dreams.

Kyungsoo smirks. 

Jongin dies inside.

“Let’s give him a show,” Taemin smirks mischievously as he hooks a finger in Jongin’s suspenders and pulls their bodies closer together.

Taemin grinds one hip sensually against Jongin’s crotch, even going as far as parting his mouth with a breathy gasp. He wraps both arms languidly around Jongin’s neck as well, continuing with hearty thrusts. Taking advantage of his best friend’s temporary disbelief, Taemin slides down the front of the frozen dancer and mouths at the small stretch of exposed skin. 

Jongin’s brain goes into shutdown mode. 

Sure, it feels good, especially since it’s been quite a while since he’s let anyone this close to him. Even though it’s Taemin rubbing up on him, Jongin manages to get semi-hard. In his defense, it’s only natural to physically respond when another person grinds up on your crotch like a dull blade on a whetstone.

“What are you doing?” He snaps.

“I’m helping you get his attention.”

Jongin pulls at his hair in frustration, “he’s going to think I’m not interested in him.”

A wave of panic rushes at Jongin, as he glances back to the elder boy by Sehun’s front door. Dark, brooding eyes meet his own as Kyungsoo seems to boil with rage. The red solo cup that once nestled in his hands gets crushed. Jongin swears he can hear that familiar crinkle of plastic from all the way over there.

“Taemin,” Jongin shoves his roommate away to the best of his ability. “Taemin, stop.”

“Nini, are you okay?” Taemin pauses his dry humping to express concern.

Even if Taemin comes up with the stupidest ideas and somehow manages to ruin Jongin’s only chance with Kyungsoo, at least he cares enough about Jongin’s well-being. Well, that’s what he’s telling himself to get over what just happened. 

“No, argh,” Jongin runs his hands through his bleach blonde locks, “just leave me alone.”

“Alright. Sorry, dude. I was just trying to help.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol altering this impulse control or possibly overexerting himself on the dance floor has his mind feeling a little fuzzy. Either way, Jongin forces himself through the crowd, trying to reach Kyungsoo before it’s too late.

It takes quite a while for Jongin to hone in on Kyungsoo’s location. Nearly 30 minutes pass by with the blonde inspecting every partygoer. Perhaps he irritates a few by spinning them around aggressively and shouting Kyungsoo. Those people can go fuck themselves though.

Jongin feels anxiety oozing out his pores by the time he notices the stylized black hair slumped against the staircase supporting wall. He notices Kyungsoo growling rabidly at anyone who attempts to approach him and giving off the impression of shooting daggers from his eyes. Jongin could become just another reject or risk it to get the biscuit. 

He’s pretty desperate at this point.

“Jongin?” A fairly drunk Kyungsoo probes, anger disappearing in a flash only be replaced with sorrow and what Jongin thinks is a dash of hope in his eyes.

“Kyung!”

The elder’s thick eyebrows furrow in confusion, “what are you doing here?”

“You seemed upset and I wanted to check up on you. Are you feeling okay?” The dancer simultaneously inquires and reaches a hand out toward Kyungsoo’s slightly pink face.

Instead, Kyungsoo leans his head back until it collides with a thunk against the wall. Trying his hardest not to let his disappointment show through, Jongin forces a faint smile.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing with your boyfriend?”

“Taemin isn’t my boyfriend.”

A scoff echoes in the small space between them and Kyungsoo gestures angrily, seemingly unconvinced of the last statement.

“He’s my best friend. Well, maybe just a friend. I’m thinking about demoting him after tonight.”

“Last time I checked,” Kyungsoo pauses in an accusatory manner, “best friends don’t feel each other up like that.”

Jongin inhales to keep his chaotic emotions in check and purses his lips. “Yeah, it wasn’t his smartest idea.”

“It’s fine Jongin. If you weren’t interested, you could have just said so instead of crushing my hopes. You know what? I shouldn’t have even come to this stupid party.”

Kyungsoo quickly rises from against the wall and shoulder checks Jongin on his way out of the room. However, the model didn’t spend what felt like an eternity looking for his crush only to be easily discarded. Jongin latches onto the frustrated man’s arm and tugs him back to their secluded corner.

“I promise it didn’t mean anything. The dancing.”

Furious, Kyungsoo yanks his arm away and hisses out acrimoniously, “this is a waste of my time.”

“Wait, please let me explain myself,” the desperation oozing with every syllable.

“Why should I?”

“I,” Jongin’s voice catches in a net of self-doubt. “I don’t know.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t want to give Jongin time to dig himself a deeper hole nor does he want to force out any semblance of forgiveness. All he wanted was to come to the party and get a little bit closer to the younger man. Instead, all Kyungsoo got was public humiliation and deep pangs of rejection. It would have been safer if he just stayed home, like every other day of his mundane existence. 

However, the tears welling up in Jongin’s deep brown eyes and the firm pout resting on his lips has Kyungsoo’s heart aching. Call him soft, but he can’t bear to see Jongin looking so downtrodden, especially since it’s his fault. Frankly, the dancer is lucky that Kyungsoo is so weak for him.

“Fine,” he grumbles out. “You have two minutes.”

“I came to the party a while ago but you weren’t here and I waited for you. You still hadn’t shown up so Taemin wanted to dance. I said sure. I’m a dance major. I’m not going to say no to dancing. And it was fine for a couple of songs until Taemin spotted you in the crowd. For some reason, I don’t know, he thought it would be a good idea to make you jealous. I tried to tell him _no_ but he didn’t listen. I never wanted to make you mad. I just wanted you to like me back,” Jongin manages to spew forth everything in a single breath, panting slightly at his current state of low oxygen intake.

Large, black eyes stare at Jongin’s face, but he’s too occupied with the scuffs on the tops of Taemin’s boots to notice. If he could just return the elder’s gaze, he would notice how the awkward tension in the air had already diffused into something sweeter.

“Okay, I understand.”

“You do?” Jongin looks up, eyes wide with hope.

“Yeah, I’d probably do something pretty stupid to make you notice me too.” Kyungsoo tugs at the skin-tight jeans wrapping his muscled thighs. “Like wear these ridiculous pants.”

“Oh,” a blush flits across his cheekbones, “so you like me?”

A warm laugh invades Jongin’s eardrums and any anger he once saw in Kyungsoo’s features completely dissipates.

“I thought that was pretty obvious since I’m here.”

“Right…Well…Yeah,” Jongin stutters, aiming to find something to talk about but miserably failing. “I didn’t think this far ahead.”

Silence sits comfortably in the air as Kyungsoo stares at the bumbling idiot in front of him. The curve of Jongin’s dark lashes flickering up and down has his heart palpitating, even more so when they gently kiss the deep red flush of the dancer’s high cheekbones. Kyungsoo’s eyes trail down the soft bulb of a nose to the plump lips resting below. A sliver of tongue briefly peeks out to moisten them, leaving the elder wondering how soft they would feel pressed up against his own. Everything about Jongin screams beauty.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Taken aback at the forward compliment, all Jongin can do is mutter out some sort of equivalent exchange. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I love your hair too.”

A calloused hand runs through Jongin’s hair, the platinum strands flowing over Kyungsoo’s fingers like soft waves. He could lovingly caress this hair all day long and not feel like time were wasted. 

“Thanks. I was actually thinking of changing it soon to something more natural, but I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you’d look good no matter what hair color you decide on, but,” Kyungsoo’s tone drops to a baritone timbre, causing shivers to run up Jongin’s spine, “you look particularly sexy this way.”

Jongin gulps, praying that all the blood in his body isn’t currently rushing to his face, “oh?”

Kyungsoo leans closer to the flustered dancer. Running a finger across that sharp jawline, he pulls down on Jongin’s lower lip with his thumb, reveling in the moist sensation. 

“You’re all flushed just for me, babe.” 

Jongin doesn’t think it’s possible to get any redder, but his face proves him wrong in an instant. His heart stutters and breathing grows impossibly shallow as he struggles for air. Everything about Kyungsoo is absolutely overwhelming.

Noticing Jongin’s reaction, Kyungsoo smirks knowingly and leans in, mouthing at his ear, “do you like that? When I call you babe?”

Jongin keens at any semblance of dirty talk, especially when it’s coming from that deep, entrancing voice. Hell, he could probably get off only on hearing Kyungsoo read the back of a shampoo bottle. He feels his knees begin to buckle slightly at the overpowering need for release.

“So,” a warm gust of air dances in patterns on Jongin’s neck as Kyungsoo pushes his lips further and further down, softly muttering out. “Your place or mine?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” 

Something dark and nearly ominous flashes through Kyungsoo’s gleaming orbs. He hooks a finger into the top of Jongin’s pants right by the button. His nail gently scrapes against the firm expanse of the dancer’s lower abdomen. With one swift motion, Kyungsoo could be undoing the skin-tight leather and be halfway to paradise. Instead, he yanks the thin dancer as close as possible.

While being pressed this close to Jongin, Kyungsoo detects an erratic heartbeat and he knows it won’t be long before they’re ripping each other’s clothes off. At least, he hopes that time comes sooner, rather than later. The leather pants he managed to squeeze himself into really restrict his range of motion.

A shiver travels down his spine and his blood runs south. Even though they’ve both been drinking, Jongin is finding it very hard to follow a sense of moral high-ground right now. It’s as if his few remaining brain cells high-tailed it down to his groin. 

“Please, I want you.”

Plush lips nibble against his ear lobe and Jongin can feel his mind short-circuiting at an alarming speed. His brain is going haywire at the sensation of Kyungsoo’s ministrations traveling further down his neck. Jongin twitches at the pleasure of those gentle lips brushing against his tanned skin. Eventually, they begin sucking into the edge of his collarbone, exposed from the tear in his sweater that Taemin made earlier that night. Jongin owes his friend big time for making that decision.

Meanwhile, rough hands gently rub circles into Jongin’s hip bones and that delectable stretch of skin at the bottom of his sweater.

It’s all too much.

“Um, I don’t think this is a good idea. We’ve been drinking. I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Jongin’s mouth blurts out while his body whines in protest.

The elder pulls his head back from the onslaught of hickeys he was creating and takes a few steps back. He leaves his hands resting against Jongin’s narrow waist and raises his eyebrows with genuine surprise.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. If you really don’t want me, I’ll back off and leave you alone. I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you to do anything,” Kyungsoo’s melancholy tone rings out as he starts backing further away and dropping his hands.

Warning sounds ring out in Jongin’s head at the thought that he might be ruining his chance this time around. There’d be no one to blame but himself. Of course, Taemin would eventually find out and spread the gossip around their friend group. The last thing Jongin needs is to hear Wonshik give him a hard time about not being able to get laid.

He can’t fuck this up.

There’s too much riding on this moment.

“No,” he panics and grabs for Kyungsoo’s wrist, holding it firmly and gulping at his own brazen behavior. “I do. I do want you. I have for a while now. I just don’t do this kind of thing. Hooking up, you know?”

Kyungsoo smirks, chuckling in his warm voice as if he heard the most amusing joke, “there’s a first time for everything.”

With that one sentence, Jongin’s brain finally hits maximum failure. There’s no internal debate or sense of foreboding about deciding. Instead, he stares at the pale expanse of Kyungsoo’s face and mentally plays connect-the-dots with the faint moles scattered there. His eyes wander across the thick eyebrows raised at him and down to two enticing lips. 

This would be the time to scream _yolo_ as they ride off together into the night.

Fuck it.

It’s not like he’ll regret it in the morning, right?

Jongin gathers enough courage to quickly peck at the distinct cupid’s bow to signal his intentions. “My apartment is ten minutes away.”

A smile graces Kyungsoo’s face as he embraces the younger’s hand tightly in his own and he begins pulling them through the crowd toward the front door.

Meanwhile, Jongin remembers that Taemin drove them to the party. He doesn’t want to ask for a ride home, especially given that:

A. Taemin will give him shit about it until the end of time.  
B. He doesn’t know where Taemin is right now.  
C. Just thinking about Taemin is starting to kill the mood.

Rather than subject himself to a lifetime of teasing and sentencing his boner to death, Jongin scrolls through his phone and summons an Uber. Luckily, there are a few drivers in the area, probably hoping to score off of dumb college kids who rarely think far enough ahead to have a designated driver and definitely shouldn’t be driving themselves. 

By the time they navigate the throngs of their peers, the Uber arrives, stalling quietly by the sidewalk of Sehun’s home. The two men slip quietly into the backseat and do everything in their power to avoid awkward small talk with the sketchy middle-aged man behind the wheel.

In skirting around conversing with the stranger, Jongin inadvertently avoids Kyungsoo as well. Of course, his mind still races through the possible outcomes of their impending rendezvous, effectively psyching himself out. He’s almost certain that Kyungsoo can hear his heart beating out of his chest.

Sensing the dancer’s discomfort, Kyungsoo takes Jongin’s left hand into both of his own. He caresses the tender skin with his thumbs as if to say everything is going to be alright. Jongin turns his head with surprise at the display of affection, only to catch sight of Kyungsoo’s lips pulled into a warm, heart-shaped smile. Jongin visibly relaxes at the repetitive gesture and before he knows it, they’re in front of his apartment. 

Hopping out of the Uber, Jongin grips Kyungsoo’s wrist and tugs him to the door. His hands shake slightly with anticipation as he uses his keycard to scan into the building. Every single step up the staircase to the third floor and down the tacky hotel style hall carpet feels like forever. It’s like Jongin is moving through quicksand with metal weights chained to his ankles. He can’t seem to get to his apartment fast enough. 

Another part of him wants to _yeet_ himself out the nearest window, but that’s just anxiety over finally having Kyungsoo right where he wants him. Well, almost. He’d actually prefer the raven-haired man to be pounding him into the mattress but that will have to wait until he actually makes it home. If he ever makes it home…

Two scuffed combat boots finally shuffle in front of the threshold to his apartment. Perhaps it’s a case of nerves or pure excitement that causes Jongin to fumble his keys. All he knows is the anticipation is killing him. Swiftly, Kyungsoo snatches the battered lanyard from the hideous beige carpet and places them in Jongin’s right hand. 

It’s funny how his brain can still pick out the right one from among the mess of battered, metal keys.

Once the door squeaks open, Jongin pulls his lover inside. The adrenaline coursing through his body heightens his strength as he nearly dislocates Kyungsoo’s shoulder. The shorter male even trips across the threshold. That doesn’t stop him from taking control, slamming the door shut with Jongin’s body and leaping at the opportunity to continue where they left off at the party.

Plush, heart-shaped lips insistently press into Jongin’s own. He can taste the fruity notes of jungle juice on Kyungsoo’s demanding tongue. Where their mouths meet becomes a flurry of saliva and intoxicating moans. Warm hands grip the exposed stretch of Jongin’s abdomen, burning against his skin.

As much as he’d love to be taken right against the front door, he doesn’t want to risk Taemin intruding on this momentous occasion. 

Jongin attempts to take things to his bedroom when he stumbles over a pair of Taemin’s beat-up sneakers, mentally vowing to harass his roommate about cleaning up after himself. Yet, in his clumsy misfortune, the intertwined lovers collapse onto the mid-sized couch. 

How exactly Jongin finds himself straddling the well-defined muscles of Kyungsoo’s thick thighs is a mystery to him. Not that he’s complaining. No, especially when the third-year student raises an eyebrow seductively and bucks his hips up into Jongin’s aching crotch.

“Oh, god,” Jongin huffs out.

Those coarse hands trail over the skin stretched taut against his ribs and Jongin’s breath hitches at the contact. Everything feels too hot, too restricting. He guides the dark-haired man to the edge of his tattered sweater, hoping the action will get across his unspoken demand. 

Luckily, his message gets delivered clearly. Kyungsoo nearly destroys the damaged knit as he yanks it eagerly from Jongin’s body. Jongin couldn’t care less, already deciding earlier that night to toss it in the trash when he got home. It will just have to settle for being disposed of somewhere behind the couch for now.

Having Kyungsoo this close and groaning under him leaves Jongin with the inability to speak. His body wants to shut down and give in, to be used as a vessel for the other’s deepest desires.

Jongin traps Kyungsoo’s heady moans in the seemingly never-ending motion of their lips together and loses himself in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished most of this a few months ago but went through some pretty bad writers block at the ending. Sorry. Hopefully, it doesn’t take me another six months to update this fic!
> 
> Nini’s outfit is inspired by that delightful crop-top in the Tempo MV.  
> The comeback and repackage were amazing. EXO added 15 years to my life. The power. Wow.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Consider this my early Kaisoo Day present. <3  
> I’d love to know what y’all think so leave a comment if you feel so inclined.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos, comments, or bookmarks are greatly appreciated!


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